And boldly seize upon her.
Enter Merione and Servant.
I know the way, though Vesta witness with me
I never trode it with such fear: help, help.
[Exeunt.
Actus Secundus. Scæna Prima.
Enter Merione (as newly ravished.)
And beg my ravisht honor back upon me?
Deaf, deaf, you gods of goodness, deaf to me,
Deaf Heaven to all my cries; deaf hope, deaf justice,
I am abus'd, and you, that see all, saw it;
Saw it, and smil'd upon the villain did it:
Saw it, and gave him strength: why have I pray'd to ye,
When all the worlds eyes have been sunk in slumbers?
Why have I then powr'd out my tears? kneel'd to ye,
And from the Altar of a pure heart sent ye
Thoughts like your selves, white, innocent, vows purer
And of a sweeter flame than all the earths odours?
Why have I sung your praises, strew'd your Temples,
And crown'd your Holy Priests with Virgin Roses?
Is it we hold ye powerful, to destroy us?
Believe, and honor ye, to see us ruin'd?
These tears of anger thus I sprinkle toward ye,
You that dare sleep secure whilst Virgins suffer,
These stick like Comets, blaze eternally,
Till, with the wonder, they have wak'd your justice,
And forc't ye fear our curses, as we yours.
Enter Theanor, Crates, with vizards.
He turns away in scorn, I am contemned too,
A more unmanly violence than the other;
Bitten, and flung away? What e'r you are
Sir, you that have abus'd me, and now most basely
And sacrilegiously robb'd this fair Temple,
I fling all these behind me, but look upon me,
But one kind loving look, be what ye will,
So from this hour you will be mine, my Husband;
And you his hand in mischief, I speak to you too,
Counsel him nobly now; you know the mischief,
The most unrighteous act he has done, perswade him,
Perswade him like a friend, knock at his Conscience
Till fair Repentance follow: yet be worthy of me,
And shew your self, if ever good thought guided ye;
You have had your foul will; make it yet fair with marriage;
Open your self and take me, wed me now: [Draws his Dagger.
More fruits of villany? your Dagger? come
Ye are merciful, I thank you for your medicine:
Is that too worthy too?
Enter the rest disguis'd.
Thou penny Bawd to his Lust, will not that stir thee?
Do you work by tokens now? Be sure I live not,
For your own safeties knaves. I will sit patiently:
But as ye are true villains, the Devils own servants,
And those he loves and trusts, make it as bloody
An Act, of such true horror, Heaven would shake at,
'Twill shew the braver: goodness hold my hope fast,
And in thy mercies look upon my ruines,
And then I am right: my eyes grow dead and heavy:
Enter six disguis'd, singing and dancing to a horrid Musick, and sprinkling water on her face.
Scæna Secunda.
Enter Agenor, and Gentlemen.
That fruitful happiness my heart has long'd for:
This day be happy call'd, and when old Time
Brings it about each year, crown'd with that sweetness
It gives me now, see every man observe it,
And laying all aside bears shew of business,
Give this to joy and triumph: How fits my cloaths?
For to those curious eyes even beauty envies,
I must not now appear poor, or low fashion'd;
Methinks I am younger than I was, far younger;
And such a promise in my bloud I feel now,
That if there may be a perpetual youth
Bestowed on man, I am that soul shall win it:
Does my hair stand well, Lord how ill-favourdly
You have drest me to day! how baldly! why this Cloak?
A pair of Breeches look like a pair of Bagpipes.
All young, and new about me: and this Scarf here
A goodly thing: you have trickt me like a Puppet.
And with less labor than one man in love.
They are never pleas'd.
As man can look, as handsome: now do I wonder
He found not fault his Nose was put on ugly,
Or his Eyes lookt too gray, and rail at us,
They are the waywards things, these Lovers.
For our own quiet sake.
And bear your selves like mine, my friends, and nobly. [Ex.
Scæna Tertia.
Enter Theanor, Crates, and Erat[on], bringing Merione.
Lay her along: she is fast still.
Give all attendance, let no stain appear
Of fear, or doubt in your face: carry your self confidently.
Either what's done will shew a meer dream to her,
And carry no more credit: or say she find it,
Say she remember all the circumstances,
Twenty to one the shapes in which they were acted,
The horrors, and the still affrights we shew'd her,
Rising in wilder figures to her memory
Will run her mad, and no man guess the reason:
If all these fail, and that she rise up perfect,
And so collect her self, believe this, Sir,
Not knowing who it was that did this to her,
Nor having any power to ghess; the thing done too
Being the utter undoing of her honor
If it be known, and to the worlds eye publish'd,
Especially at this time when Fortune courts her,
She must and will conceal it; nay, forget it,
The woman is no Lucrece; get you gone Sir,
And as you would have more of this sport, fear not.
Disperse your selves, and as you love his favour,
And that that crowns it, Gold, no tongues amongst ye.
You know your charge, this way goes no suspicion. [Ex.
Enter Agenor, and Leonid[a]s, with two Gent.
To wait upon your Grace.
My beauteous Mistriss, what is she ready yet?
Tread upon thorns, and think an hour an age
Till the Priest has done his part, that theirs may follow:
I saw her not since yesterday i'th' evening:
But Sir, I am sure she is not slack; believe me,
Your grace will find a loving soul.
And so much joy I carry in the thought of it,
So great a happiness to know she is mine;
Believe me noble Brother, that to express it
Methinks a Tongue's a poor thing: can do nothing,
Imagination less: who's that that lies there?
One of the Maids o'rwatch'd belike:
She fears no foul play sure.
Yet ['tis] not perfect day: I should know those Garments.
Enter Queen, Theanor, Beliza, Euphanes, Neanthes, Attendants.
Towre o'r us like a Falcon.
Enter the house Sir, and bring out your Mistriss,
You must observe our Ceremonies: what's the matter?
What's that ye stand at? How Merione?
Asleep i'th' street? belike some sudden Palsie
As she stept out last night upon devotion,
To take her farewel of her Virgin state,
The air being sharp and piercing, struck her suddenly:
See if she breath.
'Tis sure a fit.
Give room to her.
And strongly reinforce their strength; for certain
This was no natural sleep.
Good Soul she little merits such a mischief.
'Twas sure a fit; stand off.
And all my noble friends? Why where am I?
How am I tranc'd, and moap'd? I' th' street? Heaven bless me,
Shame to my Sex; o'th' ground too? O I remember—
My never-dying shame.
No horrid shapes sent to affright me?
We are your friends: look up, I am Agenor,
O my Merione, that loves you dearly:
And come to marry ye.
Speak out your griefs, and boldly—
Will choak ye else.
You have your loving friends about ye.
By the unspotted love I ever bore ye,
By thine own goodness—
I am now I know not what: pray ye look not on me,
No name is left me, nothing to inherit
But that detested, base, and branded—
And how; diseases of most danger
Their causes once discover'd are easily cur'd:
My fair Merione.
When I was fair Merione, unspotted,
Pure, and unblasted in the bud you honour'd,
White as the heart of truth, then Prince Agenor,
Even then I was not worthy of your favour;
Wretch that I am, less worthy now of pitty:
Let no good thing come near me, virtue flie me;
You that have honest noble names despise me,
For I am nothing now but a main pestilence
Able to poison all. Send those unto me
That have forgot their names, ruin'd their fortunes,
Despis'd their honours; those that have been Virgins
Ravish'd and wrong'd, and yet dare live to tell it.
That hate the light, and curse society;
Whose thoughts are Graves, and from whose eyes continually
Their melting souls drop out, send those to me;
And when their sorrows are most excellent,
So full that one grief more cannot be added,
My Story like a torrent shall devour 'em.
Hark, it must out; but pray stand close together,
And let not all the world hear.
Your Grace has known my breeding.
And yet it must be known: I shake.
Come close, I'll tell ye plainer; I am whor'd,
Ravish'd, and robb'd of Honour.
A damned wretch: do you know the Villain, Lady?
Is this the happy time? my hope to this come?
Did you not hear his tongue, no voice?
All I know of him was his violence.
Is only this: Going to Vestas Temple
To give the goddess my last Virgin prayers,
Near to that place I was suddainly surpriz'd,
By five or six disguis'd, and from thence violently
To my dishonour hal'd: that Act perform'd,
Brought back, but how, or whether, till I wak'd here.—
I have not read in all the villanies
Committed by the most obdurate Rascals,
An act so truly impious.
He shall be found, and such a way of justice
Inflicted on him: A Lady wrong'd in my Court,
And this way rob'd, and ruin'd?
If he be above ground I will have him.
In my love flourish: the stain was forc'd upon ye
None of your wills, nor yours; rise, and rise mine still,
And rise the same white, sweet, fair soul, I lov'd ye,
Take me the same.
And I must say ye are truly honourable:
And dare confess my Will, yet still a Virgin;
But so unfit and weak a Cabinet
To keep your love and virtue in am I now,
That have been forc'd and broken, lost my lustre,
I mean this body, so corrupt a Volume
For you to study goodness in, and honor,
I shall intreat your Grace, confer that happiness
Upon a beauty sorrow never saw yet:
And when this grief shall kill me, as it must do,
Only remember yet ye had such a Mistriss;
And if ye then dare shed a tear, yet honour me:
Good Gentlemen, express your pities to me,
In seeking out this villany; and my last suit
Is to your Grace, that I may have your favour
To live a poor recluse Nun with this Lady,
From Court and company, till Heaven shall hear me,
And send me comfort, or death end my misery.
For he is so rank i'th' wind we cannot miss him. [Exeunt.
Scæna Quarta.
Enter Crates and Conon.
Is this your first arrival?
I reacht the Town.
To make my poor house first—
I have not seen mine own yet; nor made happy
These longing eyes with those I love there: what's this a Tavern?
And since it offers it self so freely to us,
A place made only for liberal entertainment,
Let's seek no further, but make use of this,
And after the Greek fashion, to our friends
Crown a round cup or two.
Enter Vintner and Drawer.
Drawers, who waits within?
You are welcome Gentlemen; heartily welcome
My noble friend.
And a fine private room.
What is't you'll drink? I'll draw your Wine my self:
Quissions ye knaves: why when?
Enter Drawer.
The good Euphanes? in all my course of travel
I met not with a Gentleman so furnish'd
In gentleness and courtesie; believe Sir,
So many friendly Offices I receiv'd from him,
So great, and timely, and enjoy'd his company
In such an open and a liberal sweetness,
That when I dare forget him—
But you will find him a much alter'd man,
Grown a great Courtier, Sir.
Of what he was: those goodnesses you speak of
That have been in him, those that you call freedoms,
Societies, and sweetness, look for now, Sir,
You'll find no shadows of them left, no sound,
The very Air he has liv'd in alter'd: now behold him,
And you shall see a thing walk by, look big upon ye,
And cry for place; I am the Queens, give room there:
If you bow low, may be he'll touch the Bonnet,
Or fling a forced smile at ye for a favour.
Which travel, and Court Holy-water sprinkle on him,
I dare accept, and know him: you'll think it strange, Sir,
That even to me, to me his natural Brother,
And one by birth he owes a little honor too—
Enter Vintner with Wine.
Here's to your fair return.
But sure he has found a nature not worth owning
In this way; else I know he is tender carried.
I thank ye, Sir: and now durst I presume
For all you tell me of these alterations,
And stops in his sweet nature, which till I find so,
I have known him now so long, and look'd so through him,
You must give me leave to be a little faithless:
I say for all these, if you please to venture
I'll lay the Wine we drink, let me send for him
(Even I that am the poorest of his fellowship)
But by a Boy oth' house too, let him have business,
Let him attend the Queen, nay let his Mistriss
Hold him betwixt her arms, he shall come to me,
And shall drink with me too, love me, and heartily,
Like a true honest man bid me welcome home.
I am confident.
With a great train of Gallants.
Commend my love unto him: my name is Conon,
Tell him I am new arriv'd, and where I am,
And would request to see him presently:
Ye see I use old dudgen phrase to draw him.
And you shall find his travel has not stopt him
As you suppose, nor alter'd any freedome,
But made him far more clear and excellent;
It draws the grossness off the understanding,
And renders active and industrious spirits:
He that knows most mens manners, must of necessity
Best know his own, and mend those by example:
'Tis a dull thing to travell like a Mill-horse,
Still in the place he was born in, lam'd and blinded;
Living at home is like it: pure and strong spirits
That like the fire still covet to fly upward,
And to give fire as well as take it; cas'd up, and mewd here
I mean at home, like lusty metled Horses,
Only ty'd up in Stables, to please their Masters,
Beat out their fiery lives in their own Litters,
Why do not you travel Sir?
I see so many strange things, half unhatcht, to
Return, those that went out men, and good men,
They look like potch'd Eggs with the souls suckt out
Empty and full of wind: all their affections
Are bak'd in Rye crust, to hold carriage
From this good Town to th' other: and when they are open'd,
They are so ill cooked and mouldy—
That have been long in travel too.
The other day with me?
For there I am sure they are, pray 'em come hither,
(And use my name) I would be glad to see 'em.
Enter 1 Boy.
Out with the Plate ye knaves: bring the new Quishions,
And wash those Glasses I set by for high days,
Perfume the rooms along, why Sirrah.
And put on her best Apron: it may be
The noble Gentleman will look upon her.
Enter Euphanes and two Gentlemen.
It joyes my very heart to see ye here Sir.
The Gentleman that sent for your honor—
Are you in safety come, in health?
Riches, and all that makes content and happiness
Now I am here I have: how have you far'd Sir?
To catch at great occasion.
In truth I love my friends.
My elder Brother too, would your affections
Were able but to ask that love I owe to ye,
And as I give, preserve it: here friend Conon,
To your fair welcome home.
Fill it to th' brim, Boy: Crates.
But for that glorious Comet lately fired.
He stirs not me I vow to ye; much less stains me.
Enter the 2. Boy.
And make sharp Beards, and little Breeches Deities,
You that inhaunce the daily price of Tooth-picks,
And hold there is no homebred happiness,
Behold a model of your minds and actions.
I am content to thank ye for't.
Enter Onos, his Unkle and Tutor.
And be sure you break no Glasses.
Go as I taught you, hang more upon your hams,
And put your knees out bent: there, yet a little:
Now I beseech ye, be not so improvident
To forget your travelling pace, 'tis a main posture,
And to all unayr'd Gentlemen will betray you:
Play with your Pisa Beard: why, where's your brush Pupill?
He must have a Brush Sir.
These elements of travel he must not want Sir.
What would you more?
Sir, as I live you have done me the greatest kindnes,
O my fair Sir, Lampree, the careful Unkle
To this young hopeful issue; Monsieur Tutor too,
The father to his mind; [C]ome, come, let's hug Boyes,
Why what a bunch of travel do I embrace now,
Methinks I put a Girdle about Europe;
How has the boy profited?
If his too fiery mettle do not mar it.
Too bounteous minded being under age too,
A great consumer of his stock in Pippins,
Had ever a hot stomach.
Will you love me for this fine Apple?
He's of a raw Complexion.
Do you remember me? Do you remember
When you and your Consort travell'd through Hungary?
The cantell of immortal Cheese ye carried with ye,
The half cold [C]abbedge in a leather Sachell,
And those invincible Eggs that would lye in your bowells
A fortnight together, and then turn to bedstaves;
Your sowre milk that would choak an Irish man,
And bread was bak'd in Cæsars time for the Army?
I thank my able knowledge, he has arriv'd at,
Only a little sparing of his Language,
Which every man of observation—
You know you are for the bodily part, the Purse,
I for the magazin, the mind.
Born for his Countrey first.
What Horses do you prefer?
Are these figures for the mouths of Infants?
Come, tell me true.
For look you, I am broke out horribly
For want of fleshly Physick: they say I am too young,
And that 'twill spoyle my growth but could you help me?
Ye have open'd such a shame to me of travell,
By shewing these thin Cubs: ye have honour'd us
Against your will, proclaim'd us excellent:
Three Frails of Sprats carried from Mart, to Mart,
Are as much Meat as these, to more use travell'd;
A bunch of bloted fools: me thinks your judgment
Should look abroad sometimes without your envy.
And when you find your Womens favor fail,
Tis ten to one you'l know your self, and seek me
Upon a better Muster of your manners.
You wound the wind as much—
I have business for you presently: there's for your Wine,
I must confess I lost it.
And shall we see the Wench?
I would not lose ye.
My brother for his own ends has thrust on
Upon my Mistriss, 'tis true, he shall be rich
If ever he can get that Rogue his Unkle
To let him be of years to come to inherit it,
Now what the main drift is—
I'll keep him company till he be of years,
Though it be a hundred years, but I'll discover it;
And ten to one I'll cross it too.
And I shall study still your love: farewell Sir,
For these few hours I must desire your pardon,
I have business of importance: once a day
At least I hope you'll see me: I must see you else:
So, once more ye are welcome.
And when I leave to love you, life go from me. [Exeu[n]t.
Actus Tertius. Scæna Prima.
Enter Theanor and Crates.